


Broken and Lost

by orphan_account



Series: Purge [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brief Mention of Suicide, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5670802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Broken and Lost

“Come on, keep your arms up!” Your father goes for the opening in your defense and his bare knuckles crash into your ribs.

The force of his punch pushes you back and makes your body cave into itself, any balance is momentarily lost. In pain and tired you reset into your default fighting position to wait for more. Until you get it right he won’t let you go. That’s not his style.

“Kiddo, let’s take a quick break. I need to talk to you for a sec anyway.”

Thrown off guard by the compassion in his voices, something he always said should never be brought into battle or practice, you listlessly follow your father as he stiffly walks over to a rusted bench behind his safe house. This used to be your vacation home, but after your mother died it became a haven for lost hunters and people just rolling through. There is a moment of tense silence, neither of you quite sure what to say or how.

“I should have told you that I was still, you know, kickin’.” You can hear the remorse in his voice even as he tries to hide it underneath his usually monotone voice. “I thought it was for the best. And look at you, you’re still, you know, doin’ alright.”

He goes silent, unsure of what to say next or what he should say to make it all better.

“It’s fine, Dad. I’m used to.” You scoff to yourself remembering that this wasn’t the first time he pretended to be dead, but it was the longest.

You distinctly remember the first time it happened. He got one of his old hunting buddies to come home, somber look on his face and ready to weep, to tell us that Dad got shot by another hunter in the woods. Problem with that story was the tiny detail that it wasn’t a hunter, but a possessed child that he was hiding to catch. Dad wanted to lay low for a while, and he did. It lasted two days before he was back home and pretending like nothing happened. So that you wouldn’t hear them screaming at each other your parents would wait until you had gone to sleep to argue outside. Him about the importance of his work, her about the safety of your family; mentally, physically, and emotionally.

Dad promised he’d never do it again. Sweared on his life, but that promise was forgotten in a year and a half. The next time, no weeping friend, no excuse about a “hunting accident”. Just a note taped to our fridge saying, “I’ll be back.” That time he eventually came back, three months later, haggard and with a more prominent drinking problem. Unbeknownst to you, that’s when your mother started hiding a pistol in the house with her.

By the time you were fifteen your father had faked his death and “risen” from the dead five times. Maybe that’s why you just went with it when he showed up this time. Because, just maybe, you always felt like he was still around. Yet, you look at how weak and tired he looks. Your father might as well be dead because this is not the man you fondly remember teaching you how to shoot a BB gun.

“Let’s just get back to it, alright?” You stand and ready yourself for combat but he doesn’t move. “Dad?”

“We are going to have to talk about it at some point.” He may not be saying it outright, but you know what he means. His faked death, your mother actually having been killed by a ghoul instead of disease. Everything.

You quell the dryness in your throat and try to stand firm. “No we don’t. What’s done is done and, to be honest, I don’t know why I was so put off by everything.” Your father raises his head. His eyes shimmer with the tears he hasn’t cried for years. His jaw clenches trying to hold on. “Because it is so you. You lie, and you destroy. That’s all you know how to do.”

The last line strikes him in the heart and you in the gut. Just seeing the way you blew away any support he had left inside him makes you feel powerful and nauseous. With seven words you’ve brought down the man you used to look up to, admired, and exposed the shell of a person that he is. Despite that, you can’t help the disgust you feel looking at him. All you know is that you can’t look at him anymore. You feel like you should want to comfort him as he sobs into his hands, occasionally sniffling so hard that he chokes, but all you want is to turn away. So you do. Without a look back you walk towards the dilapidated carcass that was once a beautiful ranch house.

Years of no maintenance has the paint peeling and the first signs of wood rot showing. The walls that had your mother’s pictures and yours from childhood are long gone, stuck in a box somewhere probably damaged for years of abandonment and weather damage. Everything that made this house your family’s special place was taken years ago. Now, much like your father, it is just a shell of its former self.

You hop into your truck and take off, no destination in mind. All your belonging bounce around in the backseat as your truck jostles back and forth as you go down the dirt road. With a turn right the house starts to disappear behind you. You close your eyes as you hear your father’s wails. Not wanting to hear him or the silence of your thoughts, you blare the radio. The next time you hear from your father, a voicemail, it’s his final goodbye to you. And you know that it truly is the last you’ll ever hear of him. He finally gets to rest in the memory of your vacations, your mother and you, with one of your mother’s sweaters clutched in his free hand.

A year passes without incident. Monsters are a thing of the past for you. You’ve settled down in a small town and work at the local bookstore. To sum life up in a word: boring. Boring beyond belief. Until you get a call from a very familiar number.

“What do you want, Dean? I’m busy.” That’s a lie, but that’s not your problem.

“Y/N, we need your help.” If your excitement for action was kindled by seeing Dean’s number, hearing those words was like tossing lighter fluid on it.

“I’ll do it. Where are you?” You grab your backpack and your keys, leaving behind a desolate bookstore.

“Wh-wow, I thought I was going to have to charm you into this.”

Your car rumbles to life and you speed off, wind blowing pieces of your hair in your eyes as cars honk their horns at you. “Please, don’t act like you didn’t send those guys to come see how I was doing. Did they give you my note?”

“Yes, Y/N, the go fuck yourself note was beautifully written and on such nice stationary!”

You chuckle to yourself and hang up the phone after Dean gives you the address to the bunker. Even as the night bares down on you and sleep tries to take over but you just drive through it, red bull coursing through your veins. By the next morning you arrive at the bunker. It’s outside does not hint at the magnificence that is the inside. Mouth hanging open you gape at how such a large facility came into the boys possession.

“Shit, you look like you need a drink.” Dean calls you over, beer in hand and bags under his eyes.

“That bad? Then hand it over.” You take the beer that Dean offer and enjoy the suds as they coat your throat. “How about you fill me in what we you need my help on.”

Over the course of the explanation you find out that the boys found a massive nest of vampires feeding on a town not too far from your hometown. After the plan is explained, an ambush from all exits, Dean shows you around and stops in front of what will be your room for the next few days. You look at the room and turn to Dean. Maybe it’s the beer, the lack of sleep, or the need for something to take your mind off things, when you look at him you can’t stop staring at how beautiful his lips are.

“Where’s your room?” Dean catches your tone and your slow gaze roaming down his toned body.

“I don’t think…” Dean notices you hard gaze and stops his protest. “Follow me.”

With the door to his room barely open you shove your way instead, dragging Dean by his collar. You toss him onto his bed and hear the bed give a shriek in shock and the headboard bangs against the wall. Not caring for the partially opened door, or the noise you just made, you strip without any patience or grace. Your discarded clothing, aside from your bra and underwear, collide in a tangled mess on his floor. As you go to undo Dean’s jeans he stops you.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” The sincerity in his eyes and his voice clue you in to how dead serious his is. If you hesitate, sex is completely off the table.

Firmly you say, “Yes.”

Slowly Dean removes his hand from the top of yours and let’s you take control. He absolutely surrenders to you. Dean watches as your sharp movement quickly disrobe him to only his boxer. His body tenses for a moment when he sees what could be best classified as desperation. After he sees the first glimpse of it he can’t stop noticing how it bleeds into all of your actions. From the way you try to rush through foreplay to the tiny sounds you make as you force yourself to wait. It’s like you’re running from someone and you feel their fingertips reaching for your neck.

Deans train of thought is cut short as he feels your lips at the base of his now exposed cock. You easily take Dean into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock. With one hand shoved in your panties you tease your entrance with the tops of your fingers. Dean entangles his hands in your hair, fingers scraping against your scalp, as he pulls himself deeper inside your mouth. You look at the way he scrunched his face, the wrinkles on his nose and around his eyes, and the way he tries to silence any noise from leaving his mouth.

His silence is broken when the warmth from your mouth leaves him. Dean’s groans deepens as you slide him inside your pussy. You balance your hands on Dean’s chest as you find your rhythm. Dean places his hands on your waist and you slam his arms back down over his head. For a moment Dean freezes, surprised by your assertion. Fully in control you ride Dean until you feel his thighs and abs tense as he tries to hold off his climax.

This continues for much of the night. Dean who’s used to drawing out sex for a long as possible, enjoying the moment, barely keeps up with your rigorous pattern of exhilaration and the exhaustion that follows. Dean can’t take his eyes off you once you’ve rolled off him and go to sleep. Curled into a ball you are clutching onto your pillow, teeth nibbling on your lips. Dean tentatively wraps his arm around your sleeping body, waiting to see if you wake or not. Your body relaxes and you nestle further into Dean’s body. Dean falls asleep as he gently caresses your side.

The harsh florescent lights in the bunker streams in through the crack in Dean’s door. Blinded by the sudden brightness compared to the dark behind your eyes you rise from the small crease you’ve made during the night. Your body is sore and pops from the curled position you’d taken while sleeping. Dean’s arm falls from your side, hitting the bed with a soft thud. For a moment you just watch as he continues breathing deeply. You wince internally at the bruises forming on his wrists from your vice grip last night. The pounding in your head echoes in the silence of the morning and only worsens as you pull your shirt over your head. As you slide your jeans back on you hear Dean shifting in bed.

“No good morning kiss?” His joking smirk and drowsy eyes makes you chuckle to yourself.

“Not this time.” The rumbling in your stomach fills the room. “Where’s your kitchen?”

“Let me show you.” Dean goes to get up and your extended hand stops him. You want to be alone and clear your head, along with your headache, before you spend time with the Winchesters or get ready for the hunt. Ever the detective, Dean spots the distance between you and him physically and mentally. “I know that this is Sam’s forte, but if you need someone to talk to about life, I guess-”

“Dean, don’t, okay. I’m fine.” With that you leave his room in search for the kitchen.

Sam catches a glimpse of you walking down the hallways aimlessly and he heads to find Dean. He gives the door a light knock before entering and finding his brother getting dressed for the day in clothes that look very similar to the day before’s.

“What’s going on with Y/N? I saw her wandering around.”

Dean sighs. “I don’t know. She doesn’t want to talk, so I didn’t push it.” Sam notices the bruising on Dean’s wrist as he puts on a plaid long sleeve shirt over his plain black t-shirt, but decides to not bring it up.

“Do you think it has anything to do with Miguel?” Dean stiffens slightly at the mention of your father’s name but quickly hides it.

“I think it has everything to do with him. He left, pretended he was dead for years, put us up to lie to her the whole time. That’s not an easy pill to swallow. Who know’s what happened after we left them almost two years ago. Doubt she’ll clue us in either.”

Silence fills the room as they can only imagine what happened to turn their rambunctious and spirited friend so volatile and hollow. Your attempts to hide it, while convincing to a stranger, only accentuates the pain.

The time for your ambush comes and all of you, along with your stuff, is packed into the car. The vampires have holed themselves up in an abandoned plantation with the shutters nailed shut. Dean goes to the front of the house and Sam to the back. The plan entailed for you to help Sam from the back, but you notice one window that hasn’t been fully nailed shut. Using the old box of wool left under the window, you use the hilt of your knife to jimmy the nail loose. The badly hammered in nails pop right out and you slip in after dislodging the screen. You crouch down trying to not make any of the floorboards creak. It’s just your luck though that as you start to look around the room you entered the floorboard sounds like it will bust in half. Faintly you can hear two doors jostling open as the thundering sound of angry, newly turned vampires storm to find the intruder.

Your swings hit with deadly accuracy, but only if they’d been actually alive. Each vampire screeches with each new cut but their rampage continues without falter. You barely notice as their nails scrape your body, deep and oozing blood. One by one the vampires’ bodies drop behind the mob that is attacking you. Out of the almost twenty vampires Dean and Sam get half of them off of you and put down for good. The other half have been put down by you. For a moment your chest swells with pride but it immediately dies down as you see the rage in the Winchesters entire being.

“Are you fucking crazy? You could have gotten yourself killed!” Dean’s voice echoes through the now empty expansive mansion. “What were you thinking?” This time his voice sounds more disappointed than angry.

Slightly put off by the sad look that has taken over the both of them you try to defend your actions. “I saw an opening and I took it. What’s the big deal? We got them. Geez, get that stick out of your asses and live a little.” You push your way through them but Sam grabs your arm.

“Y/N, what’s going that you’re not telling us?” The pity in his eyes pisses you off.

“None of your fucking business. Let go of my arm.” Sam considers holding onto you, but just drops your arm. It’s not worth the mutual aggravation.

You scavenge the house for any materials or scraps that could be useful but find nothing that peaks your interest. Empty handed you plop into the backseat of the Impala. Another silent drive later and you’re back at the bunker. It doesn’t shock you when Sam and Dean refuse to acknowledge your existence, but it still hurts. The way they look through you is deserved, you would too, considering how you disregarded their safety, but it still makes your heart ache. Degected you shuffle your way back to your room. With nothing but your thoughts, you sharpen your weapons.

“Y/N what are you doing? This isn’t you.” You mutter to yourself, an old habit you picked up from your parents. “You don’t just run in blind. You could have gotten yourself killed. Or them.” You drop the weapons on your bed and cradle your head in your hands.

You flatten yourself back onto your bed and sigh. With nothing better to do, and not wanting to go down that road of self-exploration, you dig through your backpack to change out of your grimy, blood-covered clothing. As you toss the entire stack of your clothing on the bed a piece of crumpled paper floats to the floor. Curious you unfold it. On the tattered paper is a list you’d made back in school of what you wanted to do when you grew up. In your large and disproportionate handwriting you put:  
1\. Drive a car  
2\. Become a teacher  
3\. Make mommy and daddy proud

That last one takes away the small smile from your face.

“Make mommy and daddy proud, huh?”

Would they be proud of you? Of what you’re doing to yourself? Probably not. Before your Dad ever got into the hunting business, you can’t quite remember how, your mother and him would have these daily family “therapy” session. No matter what happened that day you’d leave it all out on the table and talk. Dad about how stressful work was getting with more orders from his manufacturing company coming in but more expensive material for less product. Mom about her fears of being just a housewife, never becoming someone people would remember. You about the jokes kids would make about your hair, your voice, and your family.

Head held high and arms balled in a fist you search for Sam and Dean. It took a while but you finally find they surrounded by papers and books in their library. They barely look up from their books.

“Can I talk to you guys for a second?” You are taken aback by the childish demeanor that washes over you when you ask for permission.

Dean is the first to respond. “I don’t know, can you?” The bit in his tone isn’t lost on you. Sam throws Dean a disapproving look before kindly turning towards you.

“What is it, Y/N?”

You fiddle with your fingers before saying, “I should probably start at the beginning.“


End file.
